#❀A memory preserved within crystalline walls ▻ (saved)

[roseofbaron]

/// tag dump

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Damned Never Die: Haunted, Part 1

  ] Greetings friends and followers.  The return of one of our founding authors and writers is poised to return to our collective group.   Keeping with the canonized theme; Lazarius takes this time to meet with the council one by one, going consecutively through his trusted advisors to weigh in on the dilemma he now faces.  Thank you to Poeta’s Mun who helped to write this scene.  Everyone please enjoy! and Thank you for the support! [

“The younger students have developed a little rhyme about you… it seems they realize that the further they stretch down this hall the colder, darker and more terrifying it feels…. “Fear the darkness, cry and cower … Avoid the halls of Magus De’Mour.” I find it…charming.”.

[ L.K ]   Lazarius calmly trudged down the long since abandoned halls of the great chamber within their sanctum. The crystalline decor and magnificent tapestries were long since neglected since both the Grand Magus and Blood Magus who both used them were missing. More the later had vanished completely.

As he recalled latent memories and past events he would come to the magnificent double doors. A ward had thusly been put across it just Incase any of the wandering students or members of the order would be curious about what was in here. Lazarius placed his hand across the translucent energy barrier and began to scribe insignia after insignia, and before long it was deactivated.

“You’re a fool Kashebahl. You trust that woman, look what we’ve become, look what she has done to you.. stop pretending and do something about it.”.

Lazarius peered around the huge sanitarium that was once the home of one of the most powerful magi to ever live and certainly the most dangerous to ever grace these halls, save for her predecessors. Lazarius looked over the room and recounted once more on the various levels of interaction that took place here.

Fond memories accompanied by a hurtful scorn that was a constant reminder of not only his failure as a leader, but as a companion. To the writing desk with a pile of books; unmoved and unshaken since the former resident had pulled them.

“Mind sheering: Volume six… Developing A Ghost Image…. what is that you were working on… Time Reversal and Dangers therein. Interesting stuff…”.

Lazarius thumbed his deep violet wrapped digit across the spine of the text. His own jet black eyes would dart back across the table top and notice the smudge where the oils from a hand once rested. It was so intense on the fatigued wood of the desk that the dust that had formed around it appeared to give it a ghostly visage. Nothing had moved since it was haunted many years ago. 

As he made his way to the swirling clock like gizmo in the center of the sanctum he would notice how it was frozen. The wheels badly needing tuning and oil, the winding device locked firmly in place. How odd that on the greater scale of things; the planets that were revolving around the large star had actually lined up in the same galactic waypoints that point Azeroth toward its run in with Argus and the Legion. Perhaps the Nathrezim knew all along?

He was glad they had abolished that creature. Hopefully it felt pain even in death within the Nether. Lazarius would turn and begin making his way toward the various cabinets, cupboards and shelves with concoctions. She was a busy little bee, stockpiling whatever she could. So many nights they had spent tirelessly researching and creating.

The final memory to flood his mind was that night he and Pyravari went to her manor in the Ghostlands. They’d purged the demon, freed the mind of their former ally and she vowed to return one day. Lazarius smiled thinking about it. Despite what had transpired from then to now, at least; if she was still alive, she was free and not a slave to that curse any longer. Such a brilliant mind deserved it’s own will.

He plucked a text from the table top, just the one he was looking for. Something to do a bit of light research on his newest plot. Combustion Magic’s we’re not easily ready within the order, he would need some knowledge. And thus he would stand there for a brief moment alone, in the silence of the dead quarters of the once illustrious Grand Magus.

[ P.D ]   As if sensing the authoritative presence of Lazarius Kash’ebahl, the tainted, intoxicating shadows of the sanctum wafted forwards, enveloping his frame in a warm embrace. Almost as if this long-abandoned chamber was crying out for a soul to occupy its walls once again.

An echo lingered beside the towering bookcase not too far off from Lazarius, where a silver scepter had clattered down upon the cold, stone floor. An effigy spirit slowly materialized, roused from a prolonged slumber, but, do not fret! The spirit was merely a fragment of a memory attached to the fallen scepter. This remnant began to pace back and forth, circling the same dusty, limping desk over and over again.

The spirit retained a vacant stare, offering no acknowledgement towards the Kash’ebahl, but despite the air of silence, was there a clue to be offered? The slanted desk of the once-great Magus offered an array of tomes and parchments scattered across its surface.

Upon closer examination one may see: The Liturgy of Death, The Journey of the Perished, A Harvester’s Perspective on Immortality, and Conceptions of the Soul: The Realm of Shadows. A torn, wine-stained parchment was delicately draped over one of the books and contained the scattered notes of the Magus De’Mour—But, the chaotic handwriting was nearly indecipherable, only a few phrases were able to be read:

“…build the bridge to immorta-… shattered pieces of another’s s-… The Nine . . . to eternity…”

Click-Clack. Abruptly, there was a faint tapping that echoed throughout the chamber. The memorable sounds of the Lady De’Mour’s typical shoe preference… heels? Or was that the sound of a faint… knocking? In the far corner of the chamber an obscure light pulsated gently from the dust-covered, glass surface gracing the wall. Click-Clack. Click-Clack. CLICK-CLACK – The impatience is… palpable.

[ L.K ]   The spirit like ether would cause the dark eyed man to slowly rouse his attention from the book and it’s contents. My how he had recalled all of her little Knick knacks and enchantments. The spiders that would carry little messages. A brilliant wicked mind. But as he followed the spirit like mist toward the writings and texts he could not help but peruse them. Yes of course. He remembered.

“Oh Poeta… I knew we would find it eventually…we worked so hard.”.

Immortality. The last true hunt they had gone on. The two were not obsessed with it by any means. But they were interested and highly motivated to seek a means and way to do so. As his wrapped finger tip began to flip through the contents he would be reminded of the night they obliterated those two bottles of Cindervine Red, laughing and channeling their magnificent minds to find an answer. Sadly they had never gotten close.

Click-Clack

He was far too focused on the writings, even locating a few penned notes of his own, mostly just little things.

Click-Clack, Click-Clack. CLICK-CLACK.

Lazarius broke from his attentive gathering of his past and followed the sound. His perked ears twitching; the pair of Shal’dorei sterling ear covers twitching as well and the soft clack of the marching hoops in his ears resonated around the clacking of the noise. The mirror.

Lazarius calmly began padding his way toward the decorative accessory, the black eyes fully focused on it. A lofted brow would raise as he got closer. He thought for a moment that it may have been another memory latched to the room. The activity and his overall presence here may have been enough to rouse the decaying thoughts here.

As he grew closer; several meters away, his fingers raised and he would flick them aside. A pair of voided claw like tendrils lurched from the shadows and yanked cloth covering from the preserved, unkept mirror. And in the silence and shadows, the black eyed inquisitor looked on.

[ P.D ]   “Hello…”

The whisper of an alluring voice danced among the shadows of the Sanctum.

“I see you…”

Another inviting whisper licked the ear of Lazarius.  Such a voice would have been unforgettable. Peering into the cracked mirror one would see nothing be a shadowed figure, however the silhouette pounced forwards like a vindictive ghost or ravenous lioness.

“Do you see me…”

A pair of fel-misted eyes nearly filled the whole expanse of the scrying glass.

“Oh, Kash’ebahl…” The voice flickered faintly, a hint of grief enveloped the spoken name… “Won’t you let me in?” She cooed, “Just a flick of those slender digits… It’ll be like the good old days.”

[ L.K ]   The hairs on the back of his neck feathered outward like quills ready to protect the flesh. The sight of something within the mirror was not exactly something he expected but was not something to alarm him either; the mystic arts were not anything new .

“Lady De’Mour.”.

He sang back in the same draw, his tongue slowly pressing against the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth as he sneered. As if just the simple speaking of the name reacted like a bad taste of something eaten.

“Letting you in would certainly be a favorable choice.”.

He crept ever closer, at this point the shadowed appendages were gone and he slowly leaned forward to gauge her reaction when he went to go touch the mirror but stopped well short of any shenanigans.

“But… since reworking the defenses of our sanctum … the mere presence of you standing here would instantaneously vaporize you. The Bastille truly hates unwanted pests boring holes in its walls and scurrying about where they are unwanted.”

[ P.D ]   “Psssshaa, you’re always no fun.”

An indecipherable phrase was gently spoken, and the listless frame of the once-great Magus came into view. The tiny, petite frame of the Lady Poeta Idril De’Mour… and her usual duplicitous grin to match.

The bewitching creature slipped a velvet glove from her hand and ran her fingers along the glass barrier between them. Snow-white locks fell from the loose bun atop her head, draping gently over her pale shoulders.

“I even have our old favorite…” with a snap of her fingers a bottle materialized in her grasp… Cindervine Red.

“I have something you may wish to know…” The Lady De’Mour sung the words like a sultry tune. “You wouldn’t pass up a chance at …immortality, would you?”

[ L.K ]   His jet black, shark like eyes rolled over white when he heard her sing song voice tempt him with olden days, wine and the topping on the cake; immortality.

When he looked back toward the mirror, the eyes of the dark lord were yet again stone cold and black as night, like a creepy doll peering back.

“It pains me to say this but in my naivety of youth, more than likely would have lunged at the chance to sample such a veritable buffet of goodness droplets. But…”. He waved the coiled, void wrapped fingers as if neglecting the invitation. “You see, I have found a way to bypass that. Amazing thing really.”

As he spoke, his other hand was calmly twitching and crawling back and forth. A small wisp of violet energy poised at the tip, leaving a faint trail behind it as it motioned about.

[ P.D ]   The elven woman slumped back upon a velvet sofa, exhaling a heavy, playful sigh. Unfurling her arm from its folded place at her chest, she reached a pale hand towards the bottle of red wine. “

I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by your reaction, I suppose it’s quite understandable—having been a few years and all. But I was hoping you’d be more… pleased, about my studies.”

The dark contents of the bottle were slowly poured into a wine glass…or two, with her free hand resting upon her red-stained lips. Deep in thought the tiny illusionist appeared to be, her calculating, fel-green gaze was dancing with an array of emotions far too difficult to pin down.

[ L.K ]   “Given what I know about your experimentation’s. I can only gather that this is some sort of gateway. Or a time loop?”. As his hand rose, he would suddenly begin to scribble energy into the air between them. A series of Shath’yari written notes holding there like a suspended chalk board.

[ P.D ]  “You know, I miss the beginning. I miss the ways things used to be before it got so… muddied. It was hard to try and be a part of a cause when the disdain was so. . evident.”

But, with the wave of a dismissive hand the guise of such vulnerability quickly evaporated. Playfully wiggling her fingers at the surface of the mirror, shadows of minuscule spiders began to accumulate against the cracked plane.

[ L.K ]   “Analysis doesn’t show a curse. Not a possession either So what is it? A doorway through time to a specific version of yourself locked in there? If I was going to be sure I was well preserved I would do it that way, that is for certain. Freeze a version of myself in a suspended animation… wait for the right person and use them to free me after my death… leave little bread crumbs to my former self and my notes… walla… instant resurrection and retaining knowledge.”.

Lazarius suddenly waved his hand through the image of his notes and peered back toward the mirror.

[ P.D ]    “And No. No, time loop.” She stated, as the minuscule spiders faded into shadows.

“Although, curious little idea you’ve proposed I’ll admit.” A devilish smirk lightly tugged upon the sides of her striking features.

[ L.K ]   “Well into two years now, if you are the current, real, living De’Mour, you know well enough that I cannot trust a word you say, especially not cryptic invitations and plays on my greed for power. What is it YOU really want Image.”

[ P.D ] “Lazarius…” The enticing voice fell to a whisper once more, “Haven’t you missed me?” she purred. “You restored my mind. I told you I’d return to you… and the Nine…But, I never said -when-. I had to do some…soul-searching.”

The final two words dripped off her tongue with a curious amount of amusement, even a little giggle escaped her petite frame—an inside joke? Perhaps.

“I met those that named themselves the perished—an organization devoted to walking the shadowlands, step in step with death like a fantastic dance. . .” Her tongue dipped out from between red-stained lips with a playful flick. “I could tell you more… But you hardly seem receptive to my presence…”

The Lady De’Mour leaned back within her velvet couch, a pale leg having darted out from beneath golden silk and was delicately crossed over her lap.

[ L.K ]   So many things to reflect on during that amount of her talking and trying to communicate through the mirror. As she was dressed to the hilt, the lord of the keep was hardly looking any more than half as smashing. He wore a plain white tunic, tucked lightly into a pair of silken black slacks. The sleeves were cut short about mid bicep and from his elbow down, a pair of violet ethereal bands coiled around his flesh. Some sort of magical makeshift bandage.

“Gods only know that you are correct on so many levels De’Mour. About the past, about the world we live in. I’ve seen so much and we’ve all toiled through so many tests of our resolve. Yet the Nine stands firm, full, and if I must say… stronger than ever.”

His hand stretched outward and a large shadowed appendage shot forth and lurched across the room. It would grab a large cushioned chair and drag it across the room; a job for easier two men. And plopped it down in front of the mirror. He would collapse into it and calmly crossed his leg over the knee of its mate and peered back at her.

The sunken in black eyes were reflected beautifully against his ghostly pale face and spider black veins around the sockets and lips. “Receptive…”. He would say with a sigh.

“My apologies Poeta. You , and I… well you should understand that it is nothing personal. I would think that the preservation of your sanctum here and all you stood for remaining in tact should at least be a testament to my devotion and hope that you would one day return as you were before you lost your will. You were; after all next to my sister, my most devote and trustworthy advisor. Even after your slip and fall backward… you were never once thought to have been a lost cause.”.

His hand rose upward and just gently massaged his brow. “I mean nothing by it in the offensive… just most unsure of you… I hope you’ve found what you need? Gotten back to yourself?”

[ P.D ]   The fel-green gaze of the Magus had metaphorical stars in them as she regarded the Kash’bahl’s change of demeanor. The devilish grin shifted into a small smile, lighting up the Sin’dorei woman’s face. The golden silk of her gown pooled around her and she playfully kicked off her long black heels, allowing them to fall noisily upon the ground.

“I knew you couldn’t be -so- cold for -so- long,” she murmured, “I’ve made many mistakes, but I’ve vowed to set them right—you saved me from a lost mind, Kash’ebahl… I needed time to fully recover and to find myself again, so I engrossed myself in studies pertaining to a topic that would benefit us all… And I’m much better for it.”

She pounced upon her delicate, bare feet with a sly wink towards the sitting Lazarius. Twisting and turning on her toes, her feet traced about in a playful dance, long golden silk shimmering about her frame. Red-stained lips parted for a teasing whisper as she leaned closer into the mirror.

“Can you still deny me?” Biting softly upon her lower lip, she fluttered her long lashes, “Into the Bastille, I do mean. Don’t get -too- excited.” Her laugh echoed throughout the Sanctum, and she lazily plopped back into her velvet couch.

“I do appreciate you having preserved my sanctum, so don’t think I haven’t noticed. Furthermore, I do have the best intentions at heart… I wouldn’t have come knocking otherwise. What I have learned isn’t perfect, but you’re the only person who could match my ideas—or even out-smart them. You and the Nine were my greatest allies…my only allies to be honest.”

She cocked her head to a side, snow-white locks falling gracefully over her exposed, bare shoulder. Her inquisitive gaze lingered over his form, noting the magical make-shift bandage.

“What can I do to persuade you?” She queried, “And why do you appear…injured?”

To be continued in… The Damned Never Die: Haunted, Part 2

[dreamy-sonata]

I don’t care about the government/ and i really need a hug

The low, buzzing hum filled the air, as the bees sensed the sun begin to shift towards the later half of the afternoon. Tubbo’s wings fluttered faster as he flew over to the neatly arranged beehives. Each of them had been rescued from the lands just before the void hit, and from other desolate areas. Many other animals and creatures stayed here too, in an unofficial sanctuary. Tubbo could tell that it had once held a large rebellion presence, based on the texts and burnt flags lying around, but now it was just him. Him and his animals. He passed the bee area, populated with flowers of every variety, then passed the sheep pen, running his hand along the sheep’s wool. The small baas and bleats filled the air, causing a smile to curl at Tubbo’s lips.

“Hello! You’re a sheep-y sheep,” he sang in a bright and playful tune, to an improv melody. A bleat of recognition and contentment came from the sheep, and Tubbo moved on from that pen. He hummed a short and random song, riffing off of that little sheep tune, and chuckled to himself. A couple of bees had managed to find their way out of the loose enclosure, and now flitted around in his peripheral. He threw a handful of petals in his hair, drawn from the pouch at his bag, and the bees followed them with interest as they gently spiraled to the ground, to join the dozens of other petals that littered the ground.

“Now there’s more,” he said, drawing out the last word, in a stage whisper, a grin of mischief on his face. He’d been living like this for…how long, exactly? A couple of months? And still the daily petal toss, the ritualistic greeting of the afternoon, it still brought him joy.

Treading on a few more of the petals, Tubbo felt a faint vworp behind him, along with the sensation of a gently spiked ball hitting him in the back. He frowned as his feet lifted off of the ground, and twisted around, only to see a shulker’s purple hull - with the small being inside of it peering out to see if the shot had hit. A trail of end dust wound its way up Tubbo’s body, and tugged at his clothes, levitating him up further into the air.

“Hey! That’s not fair,” he protested, and the shulker let out its imitation of a giggle. Tubbo sighed, and held onto the fence with one arm, keeping his body anchored to the ground. He raised an eyebrow, as he allowed the shulker to indulge in one more moment of this victory, before he let go of the fence and simply fluttered his wings, which steadied him in the air, so long as he continued to move around. And move he did, in loops and spirals in the air, much to the disappointment of the shulker before him. The levitation effect wore off in a few seconds, and he fully regained control of his flight. He dove back down, and scooped up the shulker, slamming its hull closed, effectively eliminating its ability to teleport. 

“Now you have to go back.” He flew down the corridor, and turned up into a huge room with towering ceilings. Part of it had collapsed, which let in the sunlight - probably what had woken the lil guy up. Up by the partially collapsed ceiling, there was a nether portal that somehow hung suspended in the air. It had once been perched on a loft - but by miracle or warped reality, it now simply…floated. It didn’t move at all, save for the faint ripple of the portal’s surface. The odd noises grew louder as Tubbo approached, and he landed gently on the obsidian frame. 

He wobbled precariously for a moment, then righted himself and sighed. He’d wanted to move that thing for a while, but hadn’t had the time or resources to do so. Managing such a sanctuary, all the while having to provide for himself - it was almost too much. Almost. But he’d survived this long, and he could continue to survive for a long time.

The portal finally registered his entry, and Tubbo closed his eyes as he passed through. Part superstition, but now mostly habit - as quite a few things had started in this wasteland. The antennae on his head flicked at the atmospheric change, and he opened his eyes to the cobblestone cavern constructed around the portal. Of course he hadn’t made it himself, like most other things, but that hadn’t stopped him from using it. Tubbo walked out of the portal and turned to the right - towards the ice tunnel that led to the stronghold.

A few minutes, one high-speed boat ride, and going through a portal later, Tubbo found himself descending the stone brick staircase. One upon a time, he’d had to sneak down here for fear of being discovered. He almost would’ve missed the kind of nervous feeling - a feeling of play anticipation, that he very well could be caught by someone and brought to…other people. 

Gods, how he missed it. The banter, the laughs, the mischief and tomfuckery. All of it. He supposed, in such a setting as this barren wasteland, he should’ve missed the sad times. Should’ve been longing for even the crying moments of melancholy or sorrow.... But he didn’t. There was too much, far too much of that anyways. 

He came to the room, and looked down at the portal of swirling lights. Tubbo stood on the frame, avoiding hitting the Eyes of Ender lodged in the aperture in the center of each strangely-runed segment. His eyes fell shut, and he jumped in, holding the now-bound shulker tight to his chest. Binding a creature like this wasn’t his favorite thing to do, considering this particular shulker’s fear of suffocation, but he had to get it there. He didn’t know what else to do, and he certainly lacked the arm strength to just muscle it down the whole way there. 

The little light that could be seen from behind his eyelids vanished, and he opened them - staring directly into the surrounding void. He shuddered, and made his way across the suspended bridge, using his wings to fly across. The void still scared him, even after all this time. Seconds later, he looked out at the sprawling end city before him - built with purpur and endstone, with towering heights and floating buildings that were of a height with overworld clouds. The remaining obsidian pillars seemed just short in comparison, which was intimidating considering their preserved state. 

Tubbo gently tapped on the box, and a rattle could be heard from within. He smiled, and flew the remaining distance to the landing deck of the ship. With deft fingers, he unwrapped the shulker and rapped on the outside once more. The small creature wiggled for a moment, then teleported away with a small noise of happiness. He then took notice of the slight fatigue that had set into his body - especially his wings. His little antennae flicked around, and he swallowed at the oddly quieted sensory field of the end dimension. 

Everything felt too dark, the void pressed in from all sides, and the only noises aside from his own were of teleporting enderman and shulkers. Pressure built in his lungs, and he remembered then to release the breath caught in them. To his surprise, he could now see his breath in the air. The onset of icy chill sunk its claws into exposed skin, drawing goosebumps instead of blood when it tracked its way across flesh. 

Something was off. That much he could tell. Speaking of, how even had the shulker gotten this far? Shulkers didn’t tend to travel quickly in warm environments or by themselves - the nether was just about the opposite of the end, in terms of ideal situations for them. He supposed he’d ignored that fact for a bit, moreso concerned on getting it back - but with the addition of this piercingly cold presence, Tubbo looked around. 

And looked directly into a pair of horrible purple eyes. An enderman. Pinned by his gaze, it wouldn’t have been able to move. But like an amateur, like the idiot he was, Tubbo flinched away, breaking the line of sight. In a heartbeat, it was out of even his peripherals, but an eardrum shattering screech rent the air. He reached for a pair of shears attached to his belt, and clutched the bandages from the shulker in the other hand. The dark enderman came and went - Tubbo slashed out at any moving darkness, separate from the void around. 

He dove off the platform, angling for the starry black portal below. He felt the whoosh of air as the attack narrowly missed him, and he shut his eyes and slammed into the portal. The cold presence followed him through, and Tubbo curled up into as small of a shape as he passed through the portal.

It spit him out onto solid ground, and his shoulder impacted the ground first. His skid across the ground tore at his clothes, as the apparent debris on the ground stuck up a bit. He felt it cut through his jacket, onto skin, through one of his wings, and finally he stopped tumbling. He opened his eyes, and winced at the sudden light. Then positively blanched at his surroundings. 

He wasn’t at his bed, which was where he was sure he’d last slept. It hadn’t been that long ago, after all. No, instead of being safely near home, he stared out at a flat wasteland - and on the horizon was the wall. His breathing quickened, and he lifted a hand to the side of his neck, where burn scars streak across the partially-covered skin. Memories rushed back, fire, bright lights, that searing pain, and then the horrible split second blackness. He’d died for a second there, looking into those horrible red eyes, hearing the cackling laughter, trapped in a box-

Fuck you Schlatt, he thought, and his fingers curled in on his neck. The phantom pain faded, and he slowly inhaled and exhaled himself back to reality. He shoved his shears - which he hadn’t realized he’d still been holding until then - back into their sheath, and stood up, deliberately looking away from the wall and the crystalline spires that stretched high above it. 

The evening sunset shone in his eyes, and he realized that time had been decidedly more annoying today in the end dimension, and he wouldn’t be making it home - especially considering he had yet to identify his location exactly. So he turned away from the wall, and found himself facing a large forest. Something purple glowed in one of the trees, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought that the enderman had followed him here. 

That thought vanished as soon as it came, and was replaced with a much more pleasant surprise. It glowed with the shimmering runes of enchantment, and with the purple hue change....of netherite. Eagerly, he leapt up to it and snagged it out of the branches. Nothing happened when he touched it. He could admit it, he was just a bit disappointed in this lack of...whatever he was expecting. Nonetheless, a giddy feeling overtook him as he beheld the elitist tool.

‘I can finally move that portal!’, he first thought, but then he shook his head. He could do so much more with that, he could move buildings, he could-

A purple fluid dripped from the tree, down onto his hand. It stung, and he stepped out from under the tree on instinct. His eyes traveled up the trunk, over leaves, to the source of the dripping liquid. It cut through the branches, and where it trailed left marks on the already roughened bark. Tubbo spotted a trail of it through the forest.

Well, they never said anything about curiosity killing the bee, now did they?

He followed the trail.

WC: 2000~

Character Count (CC): 11, 150~

AN: So sorry this chapter was late, again! I'll try for weekly updates. Just went through a breakup, but I promise that I'll be more consistent. Anyways, as usual, this fic will is up on Ao3 and Wattpad (my upload order is Wattpad-Ao3-Tumblr, generally within the same hour)

Have a good day, lovelies, and blessed be to all of you <3

[trans-ignis]

For Every Smile I Captured

Rating: General Fandom: FFXV Ship: Promptis (Prompto/Noctis) Warnings: None, but very minimal Chapter 10 dialog. Word Count: 1244

Read on Ao3

Summary So he’d started capturing smiles. One by one, like pinning the memories of butterflies to his walls. Capturing and preserving the fluttering impermanence of it, so fast and fragile only the deftness of a lens and the speed of a shutter could catch it without damaging the original.

In retrospect, it had started a lot earlier than Duscae. It had started before they’d even left Insomnia really, but the truth of it sat heavy on Prompto’s mind and threatened to push the whole ordeal to a boiling point he wasn’t ready to throw himself into. So, Duscae then. That was easier to swallow. It wasn’t wholly a lie either. Maybe it hadn’t started there, but it had been where whatever inner constraint he’d been holding it all back with had snapped, and it had hit him like a charging Garulessa. Or a train. Or a behemoth. Something suitably massive and limb destroying, anyway.

It hadn’t even been spectacular, and in a lot of ways he knew that was worse. Way worse. When a small, everyday action pushes you off the previously safe path of denial and straight out and over the precipice of ‘Oh fuck, we have a problem’ you know you’re already irreparably fucked.

After several days of arm twisting and pleading from the moment Ignis had announced they were entering the region, they had visited the Chocobo Post. As it turned out, this had been a good call all round. Even Ignis had been wrangled into admitting a fondness for their new travelling companions, but it was Noct that had been the real victory. Honestly that was most of the problem.

He’d been petting Chocobos. Hesitantly, with unsure hands and a wide-eyed expression like a small child being introduced to farm animals for the first time. Which really wasn’t all that inaccurate of a comparison. If the first few shots of a tentative, uncertain Noctis (reaching out and up to brush his fingers over soft fluffy feathers) had been a stress on Prompto’s floodgates, the next snap of Noct with his arms around the neck of one with a genuine smile on his face was the breaking point.

There had been a physical rush, a sensation of missing not one but two whole steps on a flight of stairs, accompanied with an inexplicable breathlessness. With an unbidden gasp he’d been forced to stagger back a step or two, bumping hazily into the rental kiosk.

That had been the start of it, officially. Certainly from then on Noctis started to creep into his work at an increased regularity than he had before. There had always been candids capturing a Noctis that more professional lenses had no interest in, but this was different somehow. More. The increase in smiles, perhaps. Not that he hadn’t paid homage to those back in Insomnia, although at the time he’d classified his handful of genuine Noctis smiles primarily as insurance. Gentle, affectionate blackmail, as it were.

The fact that Noctis disliked his own smile so much or that it happened so infrequently hadn’t penetrated the thick bubble of teenage self absorption. Prompto’s stomach dropped every time he thought back on the Noct of three years ago, now able to view him with more clarity. From what he had been able to glean via Ignis’ retellings, Noct had always laboured under a fairly limited range of expression and as such had never been a smiley child. The phrase ‘through a thick haze of autism’ bubbled back up to the surface by way of linked explanation. Still, the thought that Noctis had needed him when he’d been too stupid and wrapped up in his own problems to notice was one that continued to agitate him. Like a twisting creature of anxiety and hurt housed deep inside his chest, it wrapped it’s heavy tendrils around his ribs and heart in an attempt to pull itself up and out into more physical being. It left him short of breath.

So he’d started capturing smiles. One by one, like pinning the memories of butterflies to his walls. Capturing and preserving the fluttering impermanence of it, so fast and fragile only the deftness of a lense and the speed of a shutter could catch it without damaging the original. Noct was delicate like that. That had been the realisation. That for all his broad shouldered, dark and seemingly impenetrable exterior what lay within resembled a soft golden glow against the darkness. A delicate light made up of a kaleidoscope of glass winged butterflies, honey coloured with flecks of brilliant blue, so fragile that even their gentle quivering movement risked their own destruction. Clustered together round the shape of a beating heart, the moment one flitted away towards the glassy dark surface and made contact with the world beyond through a smile felt wasted if not captured. Even back in Duscae they never survived the journey, fading slowly into death with the curve of his lips.

Quietly, Prompto wondered how many he had left to give.

“Don’t do this, I--!” Prompto was cut short by Gladio, grabbing ahold of him roughly by the face and shoving him backwards so hard he hit one the seats several feet behind him. Curling over the back of it, he stayed in place as the sickening scene they were creating continued to escalate. He felt something shatter, thin and brittle into a thousand fractured pieces as if the physical impact had knocked it from its place within him and sent it skittering across the floor of the train just like it had sent the rest of him.

“I get it, alright!? I get it!” Noct’s voice cracked, and with a lurch of horor Prompto knew his were not the only shards scattered across the floor. Inside his mind the image welled up like the tears that threatened at the edge of Noctis’ voice-- unreal and unwanted, slipping through grasping hands and spinning away towards a boiling point. A crystalline pool of crushed and shattered gold, tainted and blackened, brilliant blues corrupted into purple against the black. The jerky jittering of fragmented wings amongst the wreckage beating desperately to right themselves as Gladiolus continued his crushing assault.

“Then get a grip! Pull your head outta your ass already!”

The Prince’s mouth moved against words he did not possess, managing only a frustrated noise before he turned and stalked away down the train, stamping down heavily on the twitching remains of his own light.

The creature inside Prompto’s chest twisted and tugged, desperately pulling itself up against his throat as it pushed down against his heart for leverage. Noiselessly it screamed, wailing for him to follow and fix and soothe what he knew could not be saved.

“Noct!”  Finding his feet again he propelled himself after the retreating prince, wanting to reach out although his hands remained unresponsive, the thing in his chest pulling him forward by his sternum.

“Leave him.” Gladio’s tone brooked no argument, a solid command that rooted him to the spot, as if cemented by the solidifying wasteland of mingling and broken hearts at his feet. His chest felt constricted, as if the tendrilled thing inside him was expanding against his lungs and pulled at his ribs all at once, prohibiting him from drawing breath correctly.

Stunned and hollow, standing amidst the greying carnage of the most beautiful thing in the world, he allowed the creature his lungs with which to breathe. Shakily, it drew breath, and for the first time in all the years it had plagued him, from it’s first kindling until this moment- it spoke. A single word, in a dying withered voice born of grief, and compassion, and of the most tender self betrayal.

Love

And hopelessly, he knew it was.

[obduratemoon]

Wedding in Kyoto: April 15th

In 2011, shortly after the Fukushima Daiichi disaster, I attended a good friend’s wedding in Kyoto. “Wedding in Kyoto” are journal entries from around that time.

Prologue

I forget if Hamemaru invited me before or after Fukushima. I do remember checking radiation levels every day, vacillating and worrying.

However, my Japanese friends seemed nonplussed. The wind was carrying the dangerous isotopes out towards Northern California and Kyoto had been spared the worst of it. 

Even Tokyo seemed relatively safe after a time, the radiation levels having been reduced to the sort of exposure roughly comparable with international flights or a smoking habit. (Yes, it took a nuclear meltdown to learn that smoking exposes one to quite a bit of radiation)

And it was cherry blossom season on the Kamogawa.

April 15th

Arrived in Narita International relatively well rested. All the staying up ahead of time and the 2 Klonopins kept me comfy and under until Alaska. And even after that I napped some.

Narita looked desolate. There was hardly a line at customs and I was soon through into the country. I went down to a JR Midori Madoguchi and bought tickets for Kyoto, taking the Sobu Rapid Line (which, despite having “Rapid” in it’s name, is the slowest way to get into Tokyo) to Shinagawa station and then switching to the Nozomi (N700) to Kyoto.

Two digressions:

First is that Narita Airport is not in Tokyo at all. Granted most large international airports are placed far in the periphery, but Narita cannot be allocated as being within the vicinity of Tokyo except by the broadest of interpretations. It’s only saving grace is the presence of some very fast trains. Although, as I mentioned, Sobu Rapid Line, clocking in at 90 mins to the general Tokyo area, is not, but the N'EX, and Keisei Skyliner, between 60-45 mins, are.

The second is that the train system in Tokyo, and Japan as a whole, is as complex and regular as its linguistics. The grammar of the Japanese language is arcane, but once the set of rules are well understood by the practitioner it is also precise and infallible in its ability to generate mutually parsable language. The train system is similar in its dependability, and trains strictly follow timelines except in cases of disaster and Anna Karenina style suicides. 

There is also another parallel, and that is in the multitiered nature of the two systems. The language is stratified into layers of politeness, the highest level consists of long and difficult constructs implying deep meanings of grovel. Likewise, the train rider is confronted with much more nuanced levels of conveyance than just the usual binary express vs. local: in Japan there is normal, express, rapid express, semi-limited express, and limited express. In addition to these usual categories are specialized trains such as the N'EX, Skyliner, and Shinkansen (which also have 3 types, from slowest to fastest: Kodama, Hikari, Nozomi).

The airplane touched down in Narita at 11 am and I was in Kyoto by 4 pm. I visited several places in the city, all places I frequented while I lived there. They are also places I return to every time I have gone back and therefore, in my memory, each instance of visitation is flattened and un-delineated in the 4th dimension. It’s hard to know if I visited them then, or some other time previous or after. They remain constant and preserved in reality as they are in my memories. Not much changes in the crystalline city of Kyoto.

I checked into the hostel which was not only cheap (I imagined the nuclear disaster had some effect on prices) but also brand new and immaculate. The main lounge area had a large kitchen plus a tatami floored hang-out space sporting a 50-inch LCD TV replete with cable, DVD player, Nintendo WII and some other gaming consoles. It was a welcome change as many of my previous hostel stays (in Mongolia and Russia) were decidedly less nice.

That night I met up with Haradashi for dinner. We went to a hole in a wall izakaya and ate and drank to our hearts content. We talked of the past and future. I especially remembered the two big traditional clay cups of sake at the end of the night, so full of potent liquid considering how much we had already drank. Finally we noticed the owners starting to close shop so we apologized and went out into the sweet Kansai night drunk as skunks.